


Faded Line

by wreckofherheart



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:43:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4464182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckofherheart/pseuds/wreckofherheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Come with me.'</p><p>[Peggy/Angie]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faded Line

     They happen suddenly, teeth and knees knocking together. It’s rushed and a complete mess; neither aren’t too sure where to put their hands, and they frantically search for every inch of their flesh. Angie immediately pulls out Peggy’s blouse from her skirt, smoothing her hands beneath to touch her warm skin. She bites down on Peggy’s lip, hard, urging her to keep going, keep going, keep going.

 

 

     Less than thirty minutes ago Peggy had announced her travels to Los Angeles, the date of her return uncertain. She had voiced this during Angie’s shift, leaving the poor girl stupefied, devastated, betrayed. Peggy could have had the decency to inform her in the privacy of their own home, not in public where Angie is forbidden to show the slightest bit of emotion, especially when on the clock. But Peggy is not as smooth as she seems to be; she says stupid things at stupid times.

 

 

     Both agree to discuss this at the mansion. Peggy can see the pain in Angie’s eyes, her frustration that Peggy is leaving so soon. Angie walks one step ahead of her, but they’re interrupted when it starts to rain. They dash through the downfall, soaked by the time they find shelter. Angie is irritated and upset; she can’t even _look_ at Peggy. She can’t really say anything to her––she’s so angry. Peggy could have invited her, she could have asked if Angie would like to come along. Los Angeles sounds like a dream!

 

 

     It’s not the _place_ which makes her feel this way, though.

 

 

     Peggy watches, aware of the damage she’s caused. She considers apologising, but her voice is lost. Instead, she focusses on the light flush of Angie’s cheeks, her wet clothes, how sweet and vulnerable she appears with her head down, refusing to cooperate. It is typical Angie. Silent treatment is Angie’s way of saying she’s mad, she’s pissed off, and she wants an apology and a damn good explanation as to why Peggy has behaved this way. _Yet again_. Oh, she can’t stand Peggy’s secrecy!

 

 

     None of this is logical. Peggy kisses her mouth, and, to her surprise, Angie responds. She throws herself onto her, arms around her neck, teeth pulling, lips smacking against hers. Peggy pushes her up against the wall, and they kiss, and kiss, and kiss, mouths wet and hot, hands hurried and trembling. A moan escapes Angie’s parted lips when Peggy softly presses her knee between her thighs. She grabs a fistful of Peggy’s hair, exhales across her cheek, and kisses her feverishly. 

 

 

     It feels so good. _She_ feels so good. Peggy shudders at the touch of Angie’s cold palms on her bare skin. She inhales sharply, breaking the kiss. Peggy meets her gaze, flustered, and tries to figure out what they're doing exactly; what they _are_. If this means anything. If this is wise. If they’ve delayed on this for too long. Angie’s eyes are bright, beautiful, helpless, and they shine with nothing less than adoration and love. She wants whatever Peggy wants; she’ll have whatever Peggy has; she’ll go through Hell, holding Peggy’s hand, and she’ll follow her to the grave if fate demands.

 

 

     Angie pulls at her sleeve, directing her back into the rain. She grasps Peggy's hand. Then they’re like teenagers, running through the stormy streets, lost and nervous in the dark, running away from monsters and rebellion. They feel alive, excited; they are doing something so outrageous, and they want it, they want it, Christ, _they have always wanted it from the day they first laid eyes on each other_. Angie grips her hand harder, and her intentions are more than clear. Peggy is speedier than she is, pulling her along, until they eventually reach the mansion.

 

 

     Ungracefully, Angie's back hits the door, lip-locked with Peggy. She whimpers into her mouth, one hand busy removing her coat, the other clinging to her shoulder for balance. Peggy manages to open the door, and they fall inside together. The rooms are dark, pitch-black, and they fumble blindly for each other. Angie exclaims at the touch of Peggy’s mouth on her neck, her teeth grazing across her sensitive skin. As her diner uniform is unzipped, Angie pulls apart Peggy’s blouse, the buttons popping free. She kisses her bare flesh, her collarbone, her neck, every part of her that she can touch.

 

 

     Angie collides into something. Her left heel topples, and she steps out of her shoes, lifting herself onto her tiptoes to reach Peggy’s lips. Fortunately, Peggy loses several inches when her own heels are kicked off. Their hands peel away every last piece of material, linen; touching hips, tummy, breasts, arms, cheeks, hair. They’re too impatient. Too frantic. Counting the clock.

 

 

     They collapse to the wooden floor, embracing, skin on skin, hands roaming where they shouldn’t roam; breath hot, fast, eyes rolled back as they pinch, kiss, suck, stroke. 

 

 

     Closer, closer, closer. 

 

 

_Peggy isn’t close enough_. Angie wraps her legs around her waist, her moans echoing through the large building. She's conscious of Peggy’s delicate fingers inside her, Peggy’s mouth on her mouth, tongue between her lips, rocking forwards, back, forwards, breasts rubbing against hers, her body soft and warm and loving and too much, too much, _too much_. She takes her again, again, and again, and again until Angie is breathless, exhausted, and needs to have her all to herself.

 

 

     She flips Peggy over, straddling her hips, bending forwards to kiss her deeply, passionately. Peggy welcomes her, so much quieter than Angie, but equally as needing. Angie wonders how long it’s been. How long has it been since Peggy has been treated this way. How long has it been since Peggy has felt loved like this; wanted like this, hungered for _like this_. Barely able to catch her own breath, Angie presses her mouth to Peggy’s neck, and continues to caress her, gentle, fast, gentle again. 

 

 

     Their love is consummated, sinful in the eyes of the world, but beautiful and perfect to them, exactly as it should be, exactly as it should have been long ago. They regret, they regret in wishing they had known each other years, and years before. They regret not expressing their love months ago, when they should have; they regret not doing what they could not do before. 

 

     As Peggy takes her one last time, her hot, wet tongue between her thighs, Angie screams out, screams her pleasure, her love, her name––‘Peggy, Peggy, oh, Peggy!’––and thinks, yes, yes, yes _this is what she wants_. This is who she wants to be with for the rest of her life.

 

 

     Afterwards, they cuddle, kiss, hold each other, hands stroking, eyes dazed and focussed only on each other. Just each other. They kiss some more, soft and worn out, and allow the rain to fill their silence. 

 

 

     Recovered, certain, aware of what’s what, they disentangle themselves. Peggy pulls her blouse back on, heads to the kitchen to make some tea. Angie sits upright, draws her diner uniform close to her. Peggy returns shortly, and Angie notices her painted fingernails, her necklace, her earrings, her scars, the fragile curve at her waist, her smudged lipstick from their ardent kisses. 

 

 

     They sit on the floorboard where they made love, and drink their tea, silent and thoughtful, wondering, thinking, still raptured in what was.

 

 

     This is their life.

 

 

     Peggy disappearing for months at a time for work Angie knows nothing about. Sitting together, on the floor, the wood cold and rough beneath them. This is their life. And it’s all Peggy can ask for, and it’s all Angie could ever want. She doesn’t want her to leave, never wants her to leave, but as her friend, her lover, her dearest, she’ll let her go, and wait patiently for her return. And she’ll always be there when she returns, always––it’s what Angie has been doing since the beginning.

 

 

     Crawling over towards Peggy, Angie kisses her lips. 

 

 

     She tastes of tea, of Angie and of peppermint.

 

 

     Angie sits across her lap. Peggy’s hands smooth down her naked waist, and rest at her hips, holding her in place. Angie gazes down at her lovingly, eyes half shut, her index finger trailing across Peggy’s lower lip. 

 

 

     ‘Come with me.’

 

 

     Angie kisses her. ‘I’ll get in your way.’

 

 

     It isn’t necessarily the truth, but it is close to the truth, so Peggy doesn’t object. Nevertheless, she still asked. She still needs her. Still needs Angie to follow her, to walk by her side, to be her friend. She doesn’t want Angie to go, to runaway, and when Angie kisses her again, Peggy is left convinced that Angie has no intention to flee. She could have fled long ago, but she didn’t.

 

 

     She stuck by her.

 

 

     ‘I love you.’ 

 

 

     Angie’s nose bumps against hers as they kiss again. She means, means, means it. So, so much. Every word. All for Peggy. All for her. She is all for her. Angie is all hers, every second, every day, every time.

 

 

     ‘And I you, my darling.’


End file.
